


The Surprise

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [48]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, Trip, T’Pol, and Mal have dinner in the Captain’s Mess. Mal eagerly anticipates the surprise Trip has promised him with the meal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

"Now don't peek," Trip warned peremptorily, upon emerging from the Captain's Ready Room to the Bridge. Several officers looked up at him in bemusement, but Trip had long grown accustomed to such stares. "We're gonna have dinner with the Captain tonight, and it's a special occasion—there's gonna be a surprise for you."

The person Trip had been addressing broke off pestering T'Pol and hopped over to the engineer. "Ooh, a surprise? A surprise for _me_?! A surprise for me at dinner??!!" Mal exclaimed. "I _love_ surprises!"

Well, he didn't, really, but Trip figured this was hardly the time to correct him. Instead he grinned and ruffled Mal's hair fondly. "A surprise, just for you," he repeated, enhancing the other man's glee. "But hey—you better not ruin it by peeking!"

Mal nodded dutifully at Trip's stern look, pledging not to lift the information from Trip's mind prematurely. "I shouldn't want to _ruin_ it… Only," he added suddenly, pausing to think, "dinner is such a very long time away, don't you think?"

"Four hours," Trip shrugged, guiding Mal out of the way of a passing crewmember. "Come on, let's get back to Engineering."

Mal was rooted in place, however, and that place happened to be a busy thoroughfare on the Bridge. "Four hours," he mused. "Four hours is a terribly long time. Especially when one is waiting for a surprise. Especially when one is waiting for a surprise at dinner."

"Mal, come on," Trip prompted, grabbing his arm and hauling him towards the lift.

"Couldn't you give me a _hint_ about my surprise?" Mal suggested reasonably, following Trip at last. "Does my surprise involve… quantum decay particles, for example? Or Rigellian ceremonial bonnets? Or raccoons?"

The lift doors shut before the Bridge crew could hear Trip's answer.

 

Turned out, four hours _was_ a long time to wait for a surprise. When you were with the person who was waiting.

"I hope my surprise at dinner doesn't involve Tarkalean biting beetles," Mal hinted, wiping down the hypospanner Trip had handed him. If he had any indication of how tempted Trip had been to whack him with it, he didn't say. "Unless of course they were dead, and polished until they were all shiny and decorative." Mal looked up from his labors expectantly. "Is _that_ my surprise, Trip? Some sort of decorative object, like a snood, made of dead, polished Tarkalean biting beetles?"

"Dang, you're good," Trip replied flatly, replacing one last panel. "How'd you guess I got you a dead beetle snood, anyway?" He didn't bother sparing any brain power to figure out what a 'snood' was.

Mal rolled his eyes, having learned this afternoon—about a dozen times over, actually—that Trip wasn't necessarily being truthful when he claimed Mal had guessed the nature of his surprise. Well, that was alright; their work was almost done for the day—or rather, Trip was about to take a Captain-mandated dinner break—and Mal would soon discover what his surprise was. Until then, he could continue to wait patiently.

"Does my surprise involve—" he began thoughtfully.

"All done," Trip interrupted him to announce. The engineer stood and brushed his greasy palms on his greasy uniform as Mal wrinkled his nose. "Why don't you seal it up for me while I go check with Rostov?"

"Okay!" Mal agreed cheerfully, grabbing another tool. "Then we shall go home and get clean before going to dinner with the Captain and my surprise, shan't we?"

Trip had almost forgotten the question by the time the sentence ended. "Oh, right, yeah…" He looked at his smudged hands. "Guess we should scrub up a bit before dinner."

"Ah!" Mal replied triumphantly. "So my surprise is something I ought to be clean for!"

Trip gave him a sideways glance. "Buddy, you'd clean up before mud-wrestlin'," he observed dryly.

Mal frowned. "My surprise isn't mud-wrestling, is it?" Trip just rolled his eyes and went to find Rostov.

Once they had both passed Mal's stringent standards of cleanliness they headed to the Captain's Mess. "—pine trees? The temporal properties of neutron stars? Underwater basket-weaving?" Mal continued to speculate.

"Mal, are you gonna guess every object, or concept, in the known universe until you hit on it?" Trip finally asked, entering the dining room.

"Mmm, that _was_ my strategy, yes," Mal admitted, "though I tried to begin with items I considered more likely."

"Hey, Commander," Trip greeted T'Pol as he went around to his usual chair. "Didn't know you were gonna be joinin' us."

"Commander T'Pol!" Mal, kneeling on the floor beside Trip, peered across the table at her. "Do _you_ know what my surprise is?"

"I am not aware of any 'surprise' planned for you at this meal," T'Pol replied, then, seeing Trip's warning expression, quickly added, "But perhaps I should refrain from discussing the subject, as I do not wish to spoil anything inadvertently." Mal sighed, thwarted, and sat back down.

They all popped up a moment later when Captain Archer appeared. "Sorry, sorry," he said quickly, sitting down. "I was just talking to Chef." He gave Mal a look that the other man interpreted as significant.

"Were you talking to Chef about my surprise?" Mal guessed eagerly.

"Surprise? What surprise?" Jon lied, badly. "No, I don't know what you're talking about."

Mal tugged on Jon's sleeve, rocking him a bit. "What's my surprise, Captain Archer? Am I going to get it soon?"

"Calm down, buddy," Trip advised with a smirk, patting his head.

T'Pol was beginning to look mildly alarmed, for a Vulcan anyway. "Perhaps I should withdraw," she offered graciously. "I would not want to interfere with whatever… entertainment you have planned." Or get caught in it, her tone clearly added.

Trip and Jon immediately dissuaded her from leaving. "No, no, no, stay, stay!"

"Yeah, don't worry, T'Pol, we aren't gonna make ya wear a funny hat or anything," Trip promised.

"Oh, we aren't going to have funny hats?" Mal commented with disappointment. "I thought perhaps we might at least have funny hats…"

"You wouldn't even wear a funny hat if you had one," Trip insisted to him. "You'd say it was ugly or itchy or something."

"Are funny hats itchy?" Mal inquired. "Is that why they're funny?"

Trip had no idea how to answer that, so he didn't. Fortunately, at that moment the steward entered.

"Is it my surprise? Do you have my surprise?" Mal asked him immediately.

"Hush," Trip told him, patting his shoulder. "Iced tea for me, and water for him."

"Why can't I have iced tea?" Mal protested. "I like iced tea."

"I think you're plenty worked up already," Trip decided. "No need for caffeine."

"Oh. The water's not my surprise, is it?"

Trip sighed, worn down by the constant questions. "Told you," Jon murmured under his breath with a smirk.

"I beg your pardon, Captain?" T'Pol inquired of his uncaptainly mumble.

"Uh, nothing," Jon assured her, pinkening a little.

"Next time I arrange a surprise for you," Trip was telling Mal, "I'm not gonna tell you about it in advance."

"Oh, why not?" Mal asked, curiously.

"Hey, I thought this was _my_ idea," Jon countered.

Trip looked at him indignantly. "What? No way! When Chef said we were havin'—" He broke  off, glancing down at Mal's eager expression. "That is, when I heard what we were havin' for dinner, I just _knew_ Mal would like it."

"My surprise is _food_?!" Mal exclaimed with delight. "Food we're having for dinner? Is it a new kind of fruit?"

"Well, I'm sure he'll be _intrigued_ by it," Jon allowed, mock-serious, "but _like_ it? I don't know…"

Mal's expression fell rapidly. "I might not _like_ the new food? What's wrong with it?"

T'Pol, relieved that the surprise apparently would not involve funny hats or other illogical exuberance, turned her attention to the humans' interactions. "Mal appears to have remained in a state of agitation for several hours, contemplating his 'surprise,'" she observed, "a not-unexpected consequence of your announcement on the Bridge, Commander." Trip looked at her as if to say, _And your point is?_ "Yet now, instead of relieving his anxiety, the two of you seem intent upon heightening it." She quirked an eyebrow at the two men. "I see no logical explanation for this behavior."

"Er, uh, well, you see, T'Pol—" Trip began rapidly.

Jon cut in with, "Um, among humans, the thing is—" Both had taken her words as chastising and were eager to explain themselves.

"Oh, it's alright, Commander T'Pol," Mal interrupted, looking across the table at her. "They're just _teasing_ me. It indicates affection among humans. Er, sometimes, anyway." Mal began to look a bit uncertain. "Although sometimes _teasing_ can be intended as a form of cruelty…"

Jon and Trip hurried to reassure Mal, both patting his shoulders. "No, no, it's meant affectionately, buddy!"

"It's just like when I tease Trip about his ugly shirts," Jon added helpfully.

"Or like the time I put a garden snake in my little sister's dollhouse," Trip offered suddenly. "All meant with good-natured affection."

"I'm sure Lizzie didn't see it that way," Jon smirked.

"Funny, neither did my mom," Trip agreed.

"So humans demonstrate affection for one another by remarking upon areas of failure or sensitivity in front of others?" T'Pol surmised, largely ignoring Trip's contribution.

"Um… yes," Jon answered cautiously. Then he frowned. "Surely you've noticed this before."

"Yeah, I tease Mal all the time," Trip pointed out, a bit tactlessly.

"But that's because Trip loves me _so much_!" Mal added happily, throwing his arms around the engineer.

"Indeed," T'Pol remarked cryptically. "I have in fact observed this behavior previously. I was merely attempting to ascertain the meaning behind it. If there was one." Which there wasn't, she obviously had decided.

There was a moment's silence around the table as the conversation ended.

"But back to my surprise…" Mal announced leadingly.

As if on cue—and with these guys, you never knew—the steward entered bearing four plates of the evening meal. Mal clapped his hands eagerly, surely the most enthusiastic response the crewman had yet received. Following strict protocol, the steward served the officers in order of rank, with the Captain first, then T'Pol, then Trip. Finally he placed a plate in Mal's hands. The expectant grin on Mal's face faded as he gazed upon the meal.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" the steward asked politely.

"Have you still got my surprise back there?" Mal asked, not politely.

"Thank you, that's all," Archer replied to the steward, who gave a little nod and left.

Mal, having set his plate aside, knelt up to survey the plates of the other diners. Trip and Jon appeared to have exactly the same thing _he_ did. He gazed pointedly at the leafy salad in front of T'Pol. "Did Commander T'Pol get my surprise by mistake?" he inquired, too innocently.

"I do not think so," the First Officer answered mildly, while Trip went with a more impassioned,

"Mal, you're gettin' kind of obnoxious now! Why don't you just eat your dinner?"

Mal sat back down on the floor, casting cross glances at Trip. He picked his plate up and examined the contents again. After a moment of silence he queried, "Is my surprise for dessert?"

"What do you think of your meal, Mal?" Jon countered instead, seeing the peevish expression on Trip's face.

"It's a lump," Mal described, not exactly sounding appreciative. "It's a brown lump. With green beans, which are at least pointy."

"Glad you like _something_ ," Trip muttered, not looking at the dark-haired man.

"The brown lump is chicken. You like chicken," Jon encouraged. "Why don't you taste it?"

"Oh, okay," sighed Mal, as if it were an onerous duty.

Determining that the moment was opportune to begin a conversation, T'Pol turned to Archer. "Captain, I noticed that our current course will take us within two lightyears of—"

"Trip!" Mal exclaimed suddenly, astonishment and apprehension mixed together in his voice. "There's something inside my chicken!"

"It's called _cheese_ ," Trip answered dismissively. "You've had it before. You were saying, Commander?" Trip blinked across the table at T'Pol with great apparent interest.

She hesitated a moment, unsure of his sincerity, but then decided that the logical course was to continue. "I was merely noting that tomorrow, at approximately 0835, we will pass—"

"It's not cheese, it's something else!" Mal insisted, having investigated further. T'Pol lapsed into silence, observing the humans (and Viridian).

"Gee, what else could possibly be inside a piece of chicken?" Jon asked curiously. "Are you sure it isn't just cheese?"

"It's solid and it's pink!" Mal announced, messily dissecting his meal. He cut off a sliver and tasted it. "It's… _ham_!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Trip deadpanned.

Mal was up on his knees now, yanking on Trip's arm in his excitement. "Trip! THERE'S HAM INSIDE MY CHICKEN!!"

Fortunately Trip found this reaction entertaining. "Surprise!" He showed Mal the ham embedded in his own chicken, and Jon did the same.

Mal sat back, dumbfounded. "That is _so_ remarkable!" he finally judged. "Ham, and cheese, inside chicken!" He picked up his plate and began to nibble at the meat. Trip patted his head but braced himself for the next round. "But Trip," Mal asked after a moment, "how did the ham _get_ inside the chicken?"

"Well," Trip began authoritatively, and Jon covered his smirk with his hand, "it's simple, really. They feed the ham to the chicken, then kill it before it's had too much time to digest."

T'Pol quirked an eyebrow. "While that explanation seems realistically barbaric," she commented coolly, "it is hardly sensible, as humans generally consume animal muscle and fat, not digestive—"

Trip coughed to cut her off. "Any other questions there, buddy?"

Mal was frowning. "But Trip, how did they get the chicken to eat such a large piece of ham? I've seen chickens before, and they _aren't_ very big."

"You've never seen a chicken before," Trip scoffed.

"Well, I've seen pictures," Mal corrected himself. "I've seen video of them, in a movie Dr. Phlox showed me about reproduction—" Trip made an unpleasant gagging noise at the idea. "‑‑and they aren't very large, and I don't think they eat meat, either, I think they _peck_ at little things on the ground." Mal was becoming more sure of himself as he went along. "I don't think they could eat a piece of ham this big. I'm sure they couldn't. They just peck at _corn_ on the ground." He gave Trip a challenging look.

"Peck, peck, peck," Jon repeated teasingly to his friend. "What's your answer for _that_ one, Trip?"

The engineer gave him a look that spoke of Jon's unhelpfulness, then turned back to Mal. "Well you must be thinking of _egg_ chickens," he told the dark-haired man. "I'm talking about _meat_ chickens."

"Meat chickens?" Mal echoed with confusion.

"Yeah, there's egg chickens that lay eggs, and there's meat chickens that are grown for their meat," Trip explained blithely.

"Not unlike the human practice of raising differing varieties of cattle to provide milk and flesh," T'Pol supplied, a bit distastefully, "though I was unaware such a procedure was used with fowl."

"Absolutely," Trip confirmed, enthusiastically welcoming T'Pol's support. Jon coughed and his face turned a bit red as he tried to maintain his composure. "Egg chickens are bred to be small. They eat a lot of corn," he assured Mal. "But meat chickens are… much closer to the wild form of the chicken." _Wild form_? Jon mouthed at the end of the table. "Wild chickens are huge, predatory birds, you know," Trip went on easily. He spread his arms wide and mimicked flying. "The wild chickens still soar above the mountains of the Appalachians, with wingspans of up to—up to two meters!" Mal's eyes widened. "Yeah, my granddaddy used to tell me stories of how they'd swoop down and snatch up a—a squirrel, or a pig, or a naughty little child with their razor-sharp talons." He looked to Jon for assistance. "Come on, Jon, you must've heard stories like that when you were a kid, right?"

Jon shook his head. "Nope, sorry, we were Easterners. Never lived in fear of the, uh, deadly wild mountain chicken."

T'Pol looked from one man's smirking face to the other. "This all seems extremely unlikely," she judged suspiciously.

"I agree!" Mal added indignantly. "I don't think this story is true, Trip! I think you're just—pulling my toe!"

The engineer couldn't keep a straight face any longer. "I would _never_ pull your toe, Mal," he insisted, between guffaws. "Not even your pinky toe!"

Mal frowned at him, assessing, then turned to the chuckling Archer. "Captain Archer, is this true? About the giant meat chickens being fed a piece of ham to get it inside them?"

"No, absolutely not," Jon replied.

"Spoilsport!" Trip called good-naturedly.

"It's not true at all," Jon continued.

"Well, then," Mal repeated, "how _do_ they get the ham and cheese inside the chicken, Captain Archer?"

"They melt it," Jon answered promptly, admirably straight-faced, while Trip burst into laughter afresh.

"Melt it?" Mal repeated dubiously.

"They melt the ham and cheese down into a liquid, then inject it into the piece of chicken," Jon elaborated.

"That seems extremely unlikely as well," T'Pol countered severely.

"That's how my mother used to do it," he assured her innocently.

"Why is the ham solid, then, and the cheese all melty still?" Mal inquired, obviously unsatisfied.

"Different melting temperatures, of course," Jon replied. "The ham resolidifies at a higher temperature than the cheese." He nodded at Mal's plate. "Look, I bet the cheese is beginning to solidify now, as it gets cooler."

"Well, it is," Mal agreed slowly, poking at his meal. He still seemed unwilling to commit to this explanation.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Trip prompted with a grin. "Don't you believe the Captain?" Jon put on his best 'trustworthy' expression.

"Well, um—" Mal hesitated, examining the remainder of his meal. "It's just—hmmm."

"Well have you got a _better_ explanation?" Trip challenged.

"Um, well, I was just thinking, and looking at the chicken piece, you see," Mal began with uncertainty, "and it seems like…" He trailed off.

"Yes? Go on," Trip insisted, his tone indicating—with good-natured affection, of course—that the answer couldn't possibly be right. "What's your grand idea?"

"Yes, out with it," Jon added, mock-serious. "Let's hear what's better than my mother's ham-melting procedure."

"Or the descendents of the giant wild deadly mountain chicken—meat bird," Trip added awkwardly, much to Jon's continued amusement.

"Well, it seems like perhaps this isn't a solid piece of chicken, you see," Mal tried. "Perhaps—perhaps they might have cut it open and put the ham and cheese inside, or sort of formed the chicken patty around the ham and cheese, and disguised it with the breading—" He broke off, looking between Trip and Jon expectantly.

They let the judgmental silence hang in the air for a moment. Then they both began speaking rapidly.

"How ridiculous!"

"What nonsense!"

"Utterly crazy!"

"You been suckin' on an ice cream cone when I wasn't lookin', buddy?"

"Where does he even come up with these ideas?" Jon asked Trip plaintively.

"I don't know," Trip sighed sadly. "Too many comic books."

Mal narrowed his eyes at them both. His frown reappeared and deepened. Resolutely he set his near-empty plate aside and knelt up to peer across the table, appealing to the ultimate authority. "Commander T'Pol, do _you_ know how the ham and cheese got inside the chicken?"

Given her previous responses, Jon and Trip were confident she would say no, admitting defeat. "Yes," she responded instead.

The two officers stared at her, then glanced at each other with a bit of naughty schoolboy guilt. "How did the ham and cheese get inside the chicken?" Mal asked patiently.

"It is the result of a transporter malfunction during supply loading," T'Pol explained calmly. Trip and Jon gaped at her, then each other. Was it possible T'Pol was— _joking_ —"Chef reported it immediately but assured me the food items were still fit for human consumption," she went on. Her tone indicated that she didn't consider 'fit for human consumption' to be a very high standard. "I believe he said he would save the… affected items for a 'special occasion.'" Jon and Trip made eye contact sharply, recognizing the phrase Chef had used when he told them he was 'making' chicken _cordon bleu_ for dinner tonight.

Maybe T'Pol wasn't joking at all.

"You'll find the incident noted in my log, Captain," the Vulcan concluded blandly, before spearing a small piece of her own leafy, molecularly untainted meal.

"Um, I, um—" Jon stammered, uncertain. Trip slowly pushed his partially-eaten meal away.

"Well that makes perfect sense," Mal declared happily. He glanced at Trip's plate. "Aren't you going to eat the rest of your mistransported ham-chicken-cheese amalgam? No? May _I_ have it, then?"

"Help yourself, buddy," Trip allowed, handing the plate down. Jon rubbed his stomach, a slightly dyspeptic expression on his face.

"This is so delicious, and convenient, too," Mal rhapsodized. "Just think of what other delightful food combinations we could make with this technology! Perhaps pudding, and cheese, inside a pineapple! Or, broccoli, and hamburger, inside a cupcake!"

"Stop," Trip requested faintly, turning slightly green.

"You seem unsettled, Commander," T'Pol observed. "Perhaps you should not partake of tonight's dessert."

"Ooh, what's for dessert?" Mal asked excitedly.

Trip perked up slightly as he remembered. "Oh, it's real good, it's jelly donuts, which are these round pastries… filled… with… jelly…" His voice faded as he glanced at Jon, who appeared equally apprehensive.

"Ooh, a theme night, how exciting!" Mal polished off Trip's remaining chicken with relish.

"Uh, tell ya what, buddy," Trip decided, "you can have my share of dessert tonight."

"Mine, too," Jon added quickly.

Mal's grin widened. "How wonderful! This has really been quite a lovely evening, don't you think?"

"Indeed," T'Pol answered, when no one else did.

"First my surprise, which was _far_ more wonderful than Elizabethan bezoar stones or isometric fluctuations or mummified Orion frog larvae or anything else I had in mind," Mal continued cheerfully. "And now— _three_ helpings of dessert!"

Jon couldn't stand it anymore, he just had to ask. "T'Pol, did Chef really say—" The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, _You dare doubt me?_ Jon swallowed hard and was silent. But the look he gave Trip was clearly understood: as soon as the meal was over, they were going to comb through T'Pol's reports for any mention of this alleged transporter mishap.

Unless of course they decided they didn't really want to know.


End file.
